This is what the holiday break is about...

When in Rome the Pacific Northwest, you drink amazeballs beer selection.  And when the best selection is at Ft. Lewis Army base, you show your ID to the gate, drive on through, then skip through the aisles like you re-believe in Santa Claus.  Then ask for a box because your purchases weigh more than VW bug.  Slug bug!

Hallelujah like a Southern Baptist choir.  Raise the roof!  Oh Lawd!!!!

Then we mosey'd south to Cabela's.  Being from Oregon, I have some inner redneck that is a force to be reckoned with.  Plus the weather here was a bit more than I packed for, so I was curious if I could score a Helly Hansen fleece for an awesome place.  And that's a 'no.'  The prices were higher than I wanted, plus no Helly Hansen (HH has long sleeves and torsos, which is a good thing for this tall Ging).

No Mama Ging, this doesn't mean something else for my Christmas list.  But speaking of Christmas lists, I got a call from the Birkenstock store.  My shoes are in.  And I-assume beautiful.  And $130.  And if you don't get them, I'll buy them myself.  So don't worry if they fall through.

Tangent over.  Sorry readers.  Just a little business.

Mr. Wookie looked as some gloves.  Some $130 gloves.  Because apparently they're made of spun gold, the virginity of 1,000 concubines, and instant weight loss via the LapBand.

But thank goodness Mr. Wookie is sane and opted to not get them.

Smart man.  I may have killed him.  After Christmas.  I want my gifts after all.

Theeeeeeen there were some margaritas.  Just a little.  Only 18 ounces worth.  And a float of Grand Marnier. And a billion times of happiness.  Along with my proper drinking habits of pinky up.  Cheers.


And what's a holiday break without some pampering?  Because it had been awhile since pedicures.  I'm talking here.  That long.  Considering the Symbiote surfaced this Tuesday (Hi Holden Lee!).

My hideous toes in all their glory.  They had been painted a couple months ago.  But let's just say boredom, job stalking and applying, and drinking myself to sleep had taken priority.

"California something" polish color.  Photographer played by Mama Wook.

And what's a pedicure without some juicy trashy magazine action??


After pedicures I was feeling the need to get out of the house.  So when in Small Town, Washington, the best play to play around would be Target (and the crowd goes wild!!!!).

Electronics department it is.

But then things went ghetto.  Because I didn't want to funk up my newly painted nails, I wore those stylish thin-ass slippers around like I belonged in low-income housing.  Then the left one broke.  So I was left limping like Igor around Target for the rest of the trip.  High class.  Mr. Wookie tried to fix it, but to no avail.  It's true love when your beloved tries to fix your free flip-flop so you don't have to walk out of Target barefoot.


And for the record, there weren't any flip flops for sale in this Target.  Because it's Washington.  In December.  And most sane people wear real shoes.  So the marketing effort towards Gings who live in California but walk around barefoot in Washington is low.  Unless they're hiring.  Because I know someone...


And should you wonder what sort of songs bring Mr. Wookie into the spirit...


"Ohhhhh, the weather outside is frightful...
But the holiday beard is delightful...
And since there's no place to go...
[Mr. Wookie stumps, so I step in]


Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow!"


All donations for the Wookie & Co. duet can be made to our Travel Fund.

But to warm up my feet and my soul.  This fantabulous piece of Alaskan action came home with me from the Army "Class Six" (liquor store).  A barley wine with the pension to kick my ass, call me Shirley, and make me plead for my mommy.  Or Mr. Wookie's mommy.


As long as it doesn't ruin my pedicure.  Although that may be a good thing.  Because who doesn't love a good foot rub??